


Even in Arcadia, Here I am

by HerGambitandSwanSong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Charlie Mentioned, Erased from existence, Family, Happy Ending because I'm sappy, Hurt Sam, I made this for fun, Life flashing before the eyes, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sam Winchester Angst, Sam-Centric, Sorta I guess, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, because im a morbid lil shit, sad i guess?, season 10
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:30:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerGambitandSwanSong/pseuds/HerGambitandSwanSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And if nobody ever hears from me again, we’ll be okay. And if nobody ever knows where I am, I won’t mind. Cuz I’ll know where I am, and that’s the most important thing." -Highway: Eric Bog</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I just wrote. It's kinda weird. Okay bye
> 
> Disclaimer BTW I don't own that super-duper Supernatural show, nor the sexy noodles named Sam Winchester and Dean Winchester 
> 
> Oh and also the title "even in Arcadia, here I am" comes from the latin saying: "ET IN ARCADIA EGO" which basically means that despite having a good life compared to others (and vice versa) we will all meet the same fate (*cough* DEATH) one way or another. Something I think the Winchester's need to get through their thick beautiful skulls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN which I write and edit this at 1:27 in the morning

"I think it should be you up there."

The words that broke the silence.

The older hunter's eyes bound to the white fabric figure charring progressively as time went on. It would be hard for a normal person to grasp that under the white fabric and vile burnt smell, was a young lady who genuinely had her whole life ahead. A lady so innocent and kind-hearted, that the concept of a blade buried in her bloody tangled body was too far-fetched to believe. What was believable though, was the cunning sly, whispers rattling through the tallest of the two men's head in reprise.

 _"It should be"_ he thought to himself. _"I should be the one laying, burning on that mount."_ Not the girl who's mind was as limitless than Tolkien's and brilliant as Einstein's. Potential to do amazing things, and instead all she got was a couple logs and a blanket as her reward. What was fair about that?

Sam looked down at the dying grass below, his numb hands shoved into his jacket pockets and eyes moist from the wretched smoke poking at his cornea. Beside him, the brother with a cursed mark and hard eyes turned away, treading silently on foot to the Impala. He rounded a thick bush disappearing from the perimeter, no doubt to go over everything that had happened in a 48 hour time span. The younger hunter- left alone once again, stood front and center watching the bright flames swarm around the fabric. How many lives had been lost just because he had simply been near? Of all his friends considered family, how many did he unintentional grant their death too? If time could be rewritten, how many would greet him with a smile.

"I'm sorry Charlie." He breathed, throat restricting any amount of bravery to seep out his mouth. "I'm so, _so_ sorry. This is all my fault, it really is. If I wasn't too caught up in trying to get the Mark off Dean, none of this would have happened. All I've done is gone and made it worse... apparently I seem to do that a lot. He saw you as a younger sibling, one that I could never be, and here we are, the roles unfairly reversed. It should be me up there, not you... not you. I'm sick 'n tried of letting people down, letting them die. I wish it could go back to the days when nobody knew Dean or I, it was just the two of us, road-tripping across America. Helping the passersby's but not befriending them, y'know? It was much safer, safer not to know us- not to know me."

Sam ran his hand down his face, taking a deep breath. "You deserved much more than this Charlie, so much more than what you got, and I'm to blame. Good people are going to suffer because of me, and I... I can't do anything about it... -and it's killing me."

A strange sensation coursed through Sam momentarily, his fingers twitching in response. The odd feeling faded quickly, leaving only a hunter to believe that it was an adrenaline spike. But unfortunately it never was just something simple. Sam shook the feeling off naturally, running his hand down his face once more to wipe away any rogue tears. He took a shivered breath, shut his eyes and relaxed his shoulders. He needed to right his wrongs, but first he had to finish what he was going to do; save Dean.

No matter what his brother said.

_'-should be you up there-'_

No matter.

He took one last sorrowful look at the burning corpse of a girl who had faith in the wayward, and love in the touch-starved. Trudging, Sam followed his brother's footsteps to the Impala, passing the bush. He could feel the bitter disappointment and anger just seeping out of his brother, like a thunder cloud ready to explode in a loud rumble of electricity. He rounded the bend, seeing that Dean was leaning against Baby silently in thought, only 10 feet away. The clouds were rushing by fast, turning suddenly dark. Tree's tipped back and forth as the winds picked up unusually quickly. Both brothers noticed the strange behaviour, looking up at the sky in curiosity. Before either could speak, Sam felt a searing hot pain dig into his back harshly. So rough, he let out a strangled cry, taking a couple of steps towards Baby and his brother, before falling to his knees. Hands fell behind him, attempting to dig out whatever had stabbed through skin into his back. To his confusion though, the youngest hunter attempted to grab nothing, swiping at air and fabric. There was nothing in his back, whatever was causing the pain was inside him.

By this time, Dean's brotherly instincts- whether Mark of Cain or not- kicked into gear, rushing in an all too familiar fashion to his fallen brother. Too similar to 9 years ago in an old abandoned campsite, just the two of them kneeling in the hard gravel while Bobby ran after Jake. The same ragged breathing coming from Sam all those years ago were being mimicking at that moment. To say the least, it scared the crap out of Dean.

"Sam!" Dean said loudly, rushing forward and sliding on his knees up against his brother. He took it back, everything he had told Sam minutes ago. Dean didn't want his brother up there on that mount burning along side Charlie. He fisted his brother's jacket tightly, pulling him in close. "What's wrong, what's happening? Come on, talk to me!"

"De-" Sam could barely find enough air to inhale. It was as if his oxygen was being cut off from him. Despite Sam being in the arms of his brother, he still felt the growing, desperate need to keep in contact, as if this might be his last. His brother's grip being the very last thing to keep him bound. There was no blood, and as far as both brother's were concerned, a hex bag was the only suitable option for why this was happening. In that second, both brother's saw something that terrified them.

As Sam's sight got blurry and dim, he could still partially make out the inside of the Impala. The wooden amulet, the brother's had gotten from a super-fan a couple months back, was hanging on the driver mirror swaying back and forth. But as seconds went by the wooden carving slowly started to disappear, as if it was being erased from existence and time.

To Dean's horror, as he held his brother in his grasp tightly, Sam started to flicker. Not bright like an angel's grace, but flicker as in disappear. He could see the background of bushes and trees where Sam's body should be. Each flicker becoming progressively longer. "Sam!" Dean said urgently, panic etching his voice. This wasn't some angel teleporting his sibling to China, this was something far more sinister. His brother looked terrified, absolutely beyond petrified and Dean didn't know how to stop it. He swiped the air frantically, attempting to get some grasp on his brother. If his brother vanished from him, then he wouldn't be able to take back the harsh words that he had said before. They would remain permanent- glued to each others heart and soul's until somehow- somewhere it could be fixed.

A cold feeling washed over the older brother's mind, fogging his senses.

Sam needed Dean as an anchor, he could feel it. Something was trying to tug him away from his brother and world. Something extremely strong. If his brother just held him a little tighter... then maybe he could stay put. However, as Sam tried fruitlessly to hold on, desperate and petrified, he met eyes with Dean. His older brother was in just as much confusion and concern as he was. Although something was off. As the seconds went by, his older brother's eyes grew less worried- more lax, face calming along with his grip. Sam felt himself slipping even further toward the invisible force trying to pull him away, and he desperately searched his brother's eyes for help. Instead he found little recognition and a lot less anchoring.

Dean let go of Sam.

 

It was the worst feeling in the world.

 

Everything went black.

 

_"But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human."_

 

* * *

 

 

"Mama, why is Sam on the ground near the dumpster again?" A high voice said from above. Sam groaned, rubbing his head and opening his eyes groggily. Bright rays of light bleated down against him as his vision focused and blue skies appeared. He knew that voice somewhere, yet he hadn't heard it in awhile- a long while. His eyes trailed over to the fierce bundle of blonde curls looking over him.

"I don't know, did Dean give him one of those half-ass concoctions of beer and brandy? I told that boy to stop trying to poison his brother, it'll just get him nowhere." A warm voice mused, approaching. Sam shifted, blinking until his vision focused permanently. All 3 pairs of eyes locked onto each other's bewildered duel. Sam gapped up in shock at the two voices he could now put names too, whilst Ellen and Jo stared confusingly down at him.

"Ellen? Jo?" Sam breathed flustered. He sat up, palms digging into the sharp gravel underneath him. "You're alive?"

Before he could say anymore, the two supposedly deceased mother and daughter pulled out their guns, aiming at him alarmingly fast. His hands shot up from the ground, raised in surrender, scooting up against the dumpster. "Whoa!"

"I know two things for certain. 1- Michael Jackson is a god damn vampire, and 2- Sam Winchester don't look like that." Ellen growled darkly at him, her finger remaining still on the trigger. Sam didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing. She either wasn't scared to shoot or her shot was going to be scary accurate. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "So who or what are you?"

"S-Sam Winchester, son of Mary and John Winchester- younger brother of Dean. O- Our mother was killed by a demon in my nursery and ever since we've been hunting- Ellen don't shoot you know me!" The long haired hunter warned, his right hand searched behind for the top of the dumpster in order to pull himself up. The searing pain that had been digging at his back had disappeared, acting as if it was never there in the first place. The two deadly women glared at him under detailed and sharp eyes. He held his breath prolonged, preparing himself for any blast and loud gunshot.

Jo looked him up and down, debating whether he was lying or not. Moments later, she put down her pistol glancing at her mother. "Mama, I think he's telling the truth. No shifter can do that with a person- I mean, right?"

Sam frowned, eyes still wide. What couldn't a shifter do with a person's image? They could do about anything. But that didn't matter at the moment, all eyes were on the hardy mother, pistol still held firmly in her hand. She took a deep breath after tension filled silence, lowering her gun. "Yeah baby, they can't do that."

The younger hunter took that as a cue to get up. He heaved himself off the ground eying the pair warily in case. Harvelle's were cunning ladies, not someone to mess with. He swatted the gravel off his jeans, flicking a lost strand of hair back past his ears. "Can't do what?" He questioned.

"Can't make an older copy of whatever poor soul they're mimicking." The oldest lady answered.

Sam frowned, his mind working swiftly to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. "Older... you mean this isn't a dream- this is time travel? What year is it now?"

The mother and daughter exchanged hesitant glances before turning back to the man with an older version of Sam Winchester's face. He was roughly an inch taller, more muscular and filled, holding a light caramel tan. His hair was obviously a lot longer then the last time they had seen the present version of him, and his puppy dog expression as Dean would refer it had changed into one more defined and sharp. Overall whether this was Sam Winchester or some stranger with a older version of his face, this man looked tired and way worn.

Jo yielded her pistol, tucking it away from sight, certain that this man wasn't a threat. "It's 2006, what did you think it was?"

"2015."

"Oh..." Jo trailed off in awe.

Ellen crossed her arms, pistol hanging from her bicep loosely in her fingers. "I'm gonna need some proof. You of all people would know that."

Sam nodded in understanding. If he was in Ellen's shoes the gun wouldn't have been lowered. Still pointed at the enigma that was Sam in the girls eyes. "Okay look, I know Ash is either searching up on Az-the Yellow Eyed Demon, or piss drunk laying on the pool table out cold. Dean and my younger self- if there even is a younger self, are probably out doing some case- I'd say maybe the clown one judging from the metal hunk of junk people call a minivan over there." He pointed behind them, towards the old rusting van with no licence plate that was parked to the side of the Harvelle's bar. Sam remembered that, they had ditched the van out in the middle of nowhere, but guessing from it's appearance Ellen must have found it and brought it back for Bobby. "I know that Jo really wants to hunt, and in a few months time she's going to sneak away with Dean and I to do a case that she's been getting information on for awhile."

Ellen frowned, shooting her daughter a stern disapproving glance. Sam mentally apologized for all his ratting but he needed to make a point. The younger blonde's face flushed in surprise, round eyes just screaming 'I'm fucked' as her plan was suddenly revealed. She cleared her throat, eyes snapping to the floor awkwardly. "Uh- yeah, it's Sam mama."

"Joanna Beth, you will most certainly not run off under my roof to go hunting with those two asses!" Ellen argued, tucking her gun away and glaring at her daughter. She gave a sidelong glance at Sam. "No offense."

Sam stuck his hands up in understanding. "Yeah, no totally."

The tip of Ellen's lip tugged up at the agreement in a motherly fashion. A sudden wave of realization hit her after acting so normal in front of the man claiming to be Sam Winchester. The smirk fell morphing into a straight purse. Her head snapped to the man, looking him up and down in disbelief. "Good God, it actually is you Sam."

Sam could finally let out a sigh of relief. He forced a faint smile. "Yeah, it's me. Just a little older."

Jo snorted quietly at the response, amused. "Y'just a little older." She commented sarcastically, holding her hand out and pinching her thumb and index digits together to exaggerate the sentence. Ellen scolded her daughter with a nudge to the shoulder, before taking a deep breath arms out wide in front of Sam. "Well then, let's get this rodeo going."

Sam went in for the hug, wrapping his long arms around his past-motherly figure. He squeezed her tightly breathing deeply in the smell of smoke and whiskey. A odour he had forgotten how much was oddly comforting to him. They pulled apart, Ellen continuing to look Sam up and down in awe. "I'm not going to lie, you look crap." She stated bluntly with care. The future hunter let out a breathless huff. Only Ellen could seem so motherly yet be as blunt as a butter-knife.

"Yeah, time-travel does that to you I guess."

Her hands fell to her hips resting there. Ellen's eyes softened, hard lines from age fading away. "So how long has it been? What time is it at with you?"

"2015." Sam repeated quietly. "Give or take 10 years."

She let out a ragged whistle, amazed by the fairly large time-span. She leaned on her heels, rocking back and forth. "That long, huh?"

The hunter nodded, those hazel eyes Ellen so clearly remembered meeting hers. "Yeah... hey do you think we can go inside the Roadhouse- talk there?"

"Of course hun, come on. Jo'll look you over while I get some of our strongest whiskey. Something tells me we'll be needing it." She joked humorlessly. Ellen turned on her heel, walking in the direction of the Roadhouse entrance. Both Sam and Jo watched the mother enter the Roadhouse before Sam turned his attention onto Jo.

"Look Jo, sorry ab-" A wave of water flew at him. It splashed everywhere in his face, eyes scrunching closed and face creased. Jo lowered the canister of holy water in her hand, tucking it back in her army jacket.

"Consider it reparations for spoiling my hunt." She spoke. Sam craned his head, spitting out any rogue water that had gotten into his mouth to the floor. He wiped his face with a single hand, dragging it down his cheeks ending at his stubble chin.

"I deserved that."

"Like hell you did, now come on, don't want to leave my mom waiting- do you?" Sam shook his head obediently. Jo smiled warmly for the first time, eyes gleaming in mischief. "Good let's go."

The pair started to walk, side by side towards the door.

"So what's its like? in your time I mean." Jo asked keenly. Sam frowned thoughtfully. He didn't know what exactly was happening. Everything around him felt real, but for all he knew it could be a vivid dream or hallucination caused by some monster like a djinn. If Sam knew anything from Dean's pestering of Star Trek and Back to the Future, it was that you didn't fuck with time.

"Jo... you know I can't tell you that..." Sam sighed. The younger girl bobbed her head at his words in sour understanding.

"Yeah, yeah." She waved off. "I've watched enough time travel movies. Just let me ask one thing, I doubt it will ruin the existence of time or any of that garbage."

"Jo..."

"Come on Sam, just one!" Jo pestered. "I'll stop buggin ya after, promise. It's a yes or no answer anyways."

Sam thought for a second. A yes or no question wouldn't cause such an anomaly, if he was standing there then it should be okay. "Fine, shoot."

Jo took the victory, grinning in success. Her smile faded quickly, becoming a soft childish one. "Are ma and I dead? When you woke up a couple of minutes ago it look like you saw a ghost."

The future hunter's head ducked to the ground, frown etched onto his face and brows scrunched together in internal disrupt. Jo didn't need a spoken word to know the answer to the question. Her grin faltered for a second, "It's okay, I just hope we went out with a bang." She tilted her head to the side, trying to catch glimpse of her older friend's eyes. They had a discreet amount of hidden pain in them. Sorrowful and scared. Jo wondered how much this man had seen in those 10 years.

She didn't know if she was happy that she hadn't been alive to see it though.

The dark heavy sadness that hung over head soon made Jo feel more then uncomfortable. She pushed away any depressing thoughts as she usually did, changing the topic. Nudging Sam's arm with her knobby elbow she smirked, gesturing to the front door with a tip to her head. "Come on Grandpa, mama doesn't like to wait."

"Grandpa?" Sam questioned raising a teasing brow. Jo winked.

"Ya'betcha Princess. You're like ancient in hun'r years."

It caught Sam off by surprise. Jo was right. Most hunter's in the span of their hunting career didn't usually live through more then 20 years of hunting. Although, to give credit to the deceased hunters, most didn't get resurrected repeatedly like the Winchester's. The pair pushed open the front doors, being blasted with a strong scent of whiskey and smoke. A dozen or so hunter's were milling around, playing pool, drinking beer or trading hunting tips for future cases. A couple eyed the pair sus piously before finding nothing strange. Granted most hunter's didn't know about the Winchester boys at the time like in the future. They were only just starting to find their way out of their father's shadow and reputation. So there was no certainty of being recognized.

Jo's mother was just finished drying a shot glass when she noticed them. "Ash," She called out sidelong, tossing the blue cloth to the bar shelf. "You man the counter while I'm gone, and don't give Galloway anymore beer, he's had enough to last him a lifetime. I'll be in the back."

Ash, who Sam had just noticed, snapped his tongue off the pallet of his mouth in a click, winking with lucid eyes. He swaggered behind the counter, sitting heavily on a stool and put his feet up resting them on the counter shelf. Sam and Jo stopped in front of Ash on the other side of the bar table for a moment. Hidden intelligence that Ash bestowed despite his gruff appearance scanned Sam up and down puzzled. He lobbed his head back against his shoulder narrowing his eyes. It was such an Ash thing to do. Inside, the future hunter's heart ached in nostalgia. There were familiar memories coming back to him as he stayed longer in the past. Things he had forgotten long ago like the comforting smell of Ellen and Jo, or the smoky air that choked the oxygen out from the Roadhouse, heck even Ash's wild hair came flooding back to him. It made him realize that despite the problems they had been facing in '06, the brothers did in fact have a home.

Now with the Mark and all, Sam wasn't so sure.

Ash studied him intensely. "Do I know ya?" He asked. The Winchester exchanged a glance at Jo before turning back and shaking his head.

"No, you must be mistaking me for someone else."

"Huh." Ash breathed, brows furrowing troubled. "You want a beer?"

Sam put his hand up in denial graciously. "No, but thanks anyways." It was slightly off putting. Sam was sure Ash would somehow realize that he was an older version of himself, yet here they were, Ash not even coming close to figuring it out. Almost as if he never actually knew of the 2006 Sam. The future hunter shook off the weird idea labelling it under paranoia that was getting the best of him. Jo led him into a short hallway beside the room that Dean had joking crowned, Ash's Sex Dungeon way back when. This was of course because of the loud music, horrible eye watering stench, and Ash's tendency to answer the door without any pants on. Those were the days Sam really didn't want to relive. Getting back on track, Jo opened the door entering it with Sam. A small scaled kitchen filled the room with Ellen sitting in the middle beside a round table. Ellen gestured to the spare seats and the pair sat down.

"If we want to get to the bottom of this and figure out how you got sent from 2015 then you are going to have to tell us everything; the whole story." Ellen commanded softly. "Any piece of information is as important as the next, alright Sam?"

Sam nodded in understanding. He understood that anything happening in the past couple of months with Dean and the Mark of Cain was just as important. Maybe he had pissed off some witch or demon when trying desperately to find his brother in those months Dean had gone demon rogue. Yet Sam didn't want to tell Ellen and Jo everything, because if he did then that would mean they'd know everything. Know what he's done, started, ended, hell even witnessed. But he needed to get back to Dean, his Dean because at that moment his brother was all alone, struggling with the world's oldest symbol of evil, fighting hopelessly back so it didn't corrupt his soul once more.

It was a race against time. But no one can evade time.

Sam didn't know that.

"Dean in the future is in trouble," Sam started to explain quietly. "He's sick with an old curse."

Ellen leaned in, cupped hands pressed against the tabletop. "How old we talkin'?"

"7 days of Creation old." Sam said, confirming the worst. Ellen let out an airy sigh as Jo looked away in unison pained. "It's effecting how he thinks and acts and yet there's no lore, myths, history- experiences suggesting how I can cure him. I-I just don't know what to do guys, I'm hanging on by a thread Ellen." The hunter paused licking his chapped lips. Words forcefully pushed out of his constricted throat. "I don't know what to do Ellen- what do I do?" He begged desperately in a innocent childlike fashion. The friend and motherly figure of the hunter, rested her hand on his tired slumped shoulder, squeezing it lovingly.

"You keep on fighting, ya' hear me?" She mumbled, fierce with passion and determination. "Every wall's got a weak point, you just gotta find it."

Sam nodded weakly, eyes glued to the marked up tabletop. Jo's chair creaked as she shifted in her spot. "If Dean's the same in the future then he is now, then he won't give up fighting either Sam. About as stubborn as a pissed off bull, that one. It could have been anyone, but it was you two. The two most hardass'd, extreme and strong willed people there are in this world. If anybody could do it- as much as I'll be kicking myself for saying this afterwards... it'd be the two of you." Jo encouraged. Sam forced a quivering smile. She reminded him so much of Charlie. Full of optimism and determination. If they had known each other in the same time period, they would have clicked instantly with each other, Sam didn't doubt that for a second. But Jo didn't fully understand. It couldn't have happened to anybody, it was in their blood. Their family roots dug deep into a dark history where destiny was the only factor at play. Everything, from being archangel vessels, to the Mark of Cain, and even demon blood. It all had to happen either way, it always had to happen with them.

Sam shook his lowered head left and right in solemn denial. "Forget your faith in me, I'm not strong."

"You don't have to be physically strong to be a hero Sam." Ellen spoke softly. "It's the will to do what is right despite the sacrifices you might have to make. Whether you believe it or not, you are good."

They were wrong, Sam wasn't good, all he brought into people's lives were misery and early death. How did that possibly benefit anybody other than himself? There were days like these where Sam seriously pondered what good he brought to the world. And there were times just as bad as this where he wondered what would have been the outcome if he hadn't existed. Ellen, as if reading his mind, turned him around by the shoulder, staring up at him. "Honey, we are so proud of you."

Jo nodded in approval, shooting an encouraging smile out at him. Sam opened his mouth, ready to butt in and say the contrary when he was interrupted with the kitchen door swinging open. In came Ash, long hair bouncing to the footsteps motion. He stopped at the frame of the door. "Ellen, Steele's is looking for that case you told 'im about last week. Told 'im you had the files."

Ellen sighed, exchanging sights from Ash to Sam. She drew her head back, gripping Sam's shoulder a little tighter before letting go. She kissed the top of his head lovingly, patting his shoulder and taking a step back. "I'll be right back. Don't do anything stupid you two. When I get back we'll work on your- uh... mishap Sam."

The name slipped out from her lips so causally, that it took a second for her to realize what she had said. Ellen, Jo and Sam's eyes all snapped to Ash's to see the reaction. Instead of surprise and shock at the time-travelling hunter, they were only meet with a neutral expression. Almost as if the name Sam, and Ash's relations to Sam Winchester meant nothing to him. In confusion, Ellen frowned stepping out from the kitchen just before eyeing Ash sus piously. She slipped past him out the door and into the hallway, her boots clicking fading in distance. Left in the kitchen was Jo, Sam and a unsurprised Ash.

"I know who you look like now!" Ash said through the silence, nodding at Sam. "Ye look like Dean Winchester, craftiness S.O.B I've ever meet."

A permanent unsettling frown etched itself onto the lips of Sam as he tilted his head to the right. "Dean?" Sam questioned in confusion. "Don'tcha think I look like his brother?"

"He don't got a brother." Ash said simply with a dazed and unsure frown. Sam's eyes grew wide and round in shock. He shot up from the chair alarmed, approaching Ash.

"What do you mean he doesn't have a brother? He does, it- it's Sam- Sam Winchester." The future hunter sputtered nervously. Ash paused, blinking causally.

"No he don't."

"Yes- yes he does." Sam insisted growing more anxious and confused. He turned to Jo for support, she blinked dazed and shook her head as if there was a cork in her head. "Right Jo?"

She looked up, snapping out of her daze in slight surprise. The blonde girl looked at Ash and then back to Sam, her eyes housing a new foreign and off look. "What were we talking about? Sam when did you get here, and why do you look so different- older?"

"What the hell is going on..?" Sam muttered in shock stumbling back. "Jo, I've been here for like 10 minutes, you and your mom were the one's who found me- remember?"

The younger girl let out a playful laugh. "You and Dean's jokes are lame-" She paused as if trying to address the future hunter but couldn't quite remember his name.

Sam felt as though he had been gutted, staring at Jo in awe and dread. His shoulders hunched in tension, chest rising up and down at the adrenaline boast. "Jo, my name is Sam, Sam Winchester. You remember, that don't you?." The words came out more so as a command then question. He really just wanted Jo and Ash to burst out in laughter and say they got him, or how stupid he looked. Instead the blonde girl looked down at the floorboard, eyes skipping around. They returned to Sam's, thin brows furrowed and confused.

"Who are you?"

The world fell around Sam and his breathing picked up erratically. He stumbled back in horror, the room around him seemingly closing in. Ash took a wary step away from the door, staring at the man cautiously. He needed to get out of the room, something had happened, they might have been poison or cursed. Whatever had brought him to 2006 was effecting them too. He backed away to the door, twisting on his heel and retreating out hastily. The hunter sped away from the room, turning a corner in the main hub. He pushed past a burly hunter who swore loudly at him, shoving back at him. Sam, flustered shot his hands out in surrender and apology to the hunter, who just grunted and turned back around focusing on his beer. Nervous sweat betted down Sam's face, as he continued to stumble out the door. Before he could, a pair of hands shot from beside him, latching onto his bicep.

"Sam honey, stop!" Ellen exclaimed worriedly. Concerned and fearful eyes meet Ellen's that reminded her so much of a child's. Instantaneously, the taller hunter latched onto her, wrapping shaky long arms around Ellen. He pushed her against him tightly, determined not to lose his motherly figure too. "Sam, baby what's wrong?!" Ellen spoke again, attempting to look up at the panicked hunter but failing because Sam was giving her no freedom.

"Ellen, I- I don't know what's happening, what's happening, what's happening to me- Jo- Ash?!" He rambled. Ellen tried to pry her way out from the strong hunter's arms only succeeding with the soothing motherly words that reassured him. She lead him to an empty spot of the bar counter, guiding him to sit on the stool. She walked around the side of the bar, going behind the counter.

"Take a deep breath, honey." She guided supported. The hunter took a shallow breath, eyes skipping anxiously from one object to another. "Now tell me what's going on, and I'll try to help, alright?"

Sam's wide eyes snapped to her in unknown dread. "Y-y-you don't know? I told you a couple of minutes ago." Ellen gave him a look. She shook her head slowly.

"No honey, you didn't." She mumbled. Sam's hands shot from under the counter, where they had been gripping each other tightly and grabbed Ellen's smaller less clammy ones. Ellen reeled back in surprise, her hands still wrapped in Sam's. The wild look in his eyes reminded Ellen's of a dying animal, desperate and lost.

"Something is happening Ellen and it's effecting everybody's minds." Sam whispered. "It's like they're forgetting me. How is that possible? What can do that Ellen?"

Ellen shook her head again frowning. "You aren't making any sense Sam, nothing is happening because you're still on that clown case with Dean."

Sam squeezed her hands harder, shaking his head. "How is that possible when I look 10 years older Ellen? huh- how?!"

"Sam you stop right now, you're hurting me." Ellen exclaimed. Few hunters around, close enough to hear their conversation turned warily, readying to intervene and protect their trustworthy bar owner. All they saw was Ellen, the lovely hardass bar owner being forcefully grabbed by some wearily way worn traveller. They knew better though, Ellen could hold her own, but if it went out of hand and the stranger did anything else... well then there would be 5 more hunters to deal with.

Sam paused, staring at her cautiously. He let go of her hands, planting his own on the counter. "It's like people are forgetting me Ellen. I'm not from 2006, I'm from 2015- I told you that already. Whatever sent me back is twisting everybody's minds."

"You do understand what you are telling me right?" Ellen hissed under her breath. "-know how absurd this all sounds?"

"It isn't absurd because it's actually happening. Even right now you're forgetting me!"

"Just... just gimme a minute to think this through." She sighed, grabbing a rag and turning around practically ending the conversation for now.

"I don't think I have a minute anymore. Over time you'll just forget about me." Sam whispered to himself, discovering scary revelations as Ellen cleaned the cups, back facing him. "Maybe, I'm being forgotten... people are just forgetting me. But what is that powerful enough to do that?... a trickster? pagan god? and how the hell am I goin kill it?"

A much bigger, terrifying question was lurking in his mind, but alas, he refused to say it out loud in fear that it could come true. What would happen when everyone forgot about him?

Who would he be?

Ellen turned around, glass and rag in hand as if she had just noticed him sitting there. There was no recognition in her eyes and she gave him a friendly smile that held no family love in it like it had been carrying 5 minutes ago.

"Hey there, what can I gettcha?" She introduced, smiling to the long haired stranger she had never seen at the Roadhouse before. The long haired stranger's face fell for a second, barely noticeable to Ellen, before thick defenses came rushing back to his face. His eyes hardened attempting to push away the misery and dread that was building up in there. He cleared his throat, glancing down at his folded hands. Unclasping them, he let them hang at his sides.

"Just a beer please." He mumbled half-heartedly. She nodded, turning around and bent down to grab a bottle of beer.

"So are ya new here? I haven't seen you around before." She spoke as she uncapped the bottle and stood back up. Quick conversation was always good when getting someone who she didn't know out of the RoadHouse as quickly as possible. It worked with new families, cocky hunters and the occasional lost tourist. She doubted this man would be any different. Ellen grabbed a cup, turning on her heel to face the dark haired stranger. Her eyes landed on the empty spot that the stranger had occupied less than a couple of seconds ago. Setting the cup and beer bottle down she scratched her head in confusion.

Now that Ellen thought about it, why did she have a bottle of beer out when nobody had asked for it?

 

" _Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotes in this chapter come from: 
> 
> Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut  
> &  
> To kill a mockingbird, Harper Lee


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN which Sam ironically has really good memory and I accidently walk in on my sibling watching videos on the rare Michael Gros Banana species.

Sam officially hated travelling through time. He didn't like it when they went to the Wild West nor when they went to protect their parents from Anna. But this, this was far worse. The same pain that he got the first time with Dean in 2015 was hurting him once more. Sharp swipes of pain scratched along his spine travelling up to his stressed heart. Around him the familiar surroundings of the Roadhouse and Ellen snapped away like a TV changing its channels. The dark lighting was replaced with a more vibrant and lively glow. The old wooden walls morphed into one that reminded him of solid terra cotta, familiar mint living room furniture filling the empty room.

Although it wasn't the change of the room that struck Sam with shock. It was the smell.

The air smelled of cinnamon and mulled apples. Comforting scents that calmed Sam's mind as it had 10 years ago. It was a mixture of odours he never ceased to forget despite the maker being long deceased. The nostalgic scent came from a blonde lady he loved very much but had to see disappear as he crashed and burned.

He was in Palo Alto, in the home him and Jessica rented back in '05 before it had burned down.

Letting his feet guide him and his mind stray freely in awe, Sam found himself in the bedroom, glancing around the old yet new room, mouth hanging open. Everything was exactly the way he had remembered it years back. Jessica's bright yellow housecoat dangled from the hook on the bedroom door behind him, his secret in-case-of-emergency- silver knife hidden under a loose floorboard behind his bed, easy enough to pry open and close was there as well collecting dust. Hazel eyes caught sight of a picture frame sitting on Jessica's side of the bed table's. Silently, Sam made his way to the picture, kneeling down onto the wooden floor and engulfing the small frame into his larger hands. The fuzzy, low quality picture glared back at him patronizingly. A bright, and younger version of himself smiled genuinely back at Sam, both arms wrapped around the waist of the beautiful intelligent lady known as Jessica. The couple grinned at the camera, carefree and unknown to the heavy burden one of them would have to take in the near future. The picture seemed to come to life before Sam's eyes as he recalled the sweet memory of Christmas 2004. People in the background danced to the moderate beat of the festive music, laughing and enjoying life as if it were given to them only minutes before. His late friend Lucy had snapped the picture of the young couple just before they had kissed. Sam remembered that moment vividly. Both Jessica and himself had pulled away from the kissed, pressing their noses together, eyes glimmering from the reflection of the candle lights scattered around the room.

"What would I do without you?" He remembered whispering peacefully, staring into those bright and flourishing eyes he so ever adored.

She had responded with: "Crash and burn."

And indeed was she right.

He had fallen and burnt worse then anybody would have thought.

Fell from his peaceful and new pedestal into a world so dark and hopeless, that he felt his heart would suffocate and cease at any moment in this dread, stretched time.

Silent envy filled his heart as he grew to regret his actions of going on the road trip with his brother. Over the years Sam had come to accept that for certain, no matter what, Jessica would have died that unlawful night. But at least not going with his brother for the case that started it all, would have given him a couple of days more with his love. Who wouldn't want that? He knew his brother would agree, if it was their mom instead of Jess, Dean would have taken that chance as well. He might not have openly admitted it since Dean's nature consisted of denial and stubbornness, but deep down Dean would probably be agreeing.

He set the frame back down on the bedside carefully, standing up and staring down at it, eyes masked of emotion. His heart ached painfully from the cage he had created within, depriving the heart of any external emotion. It's what his father would do. Hold back the pain from the inside rather than out. He'd rather haunt himself with the burden he carried then put it on some other's. That was why, ultimately, Sam had to leave before Jessica came wandering through their front door.

Sam did a quick tour of the small apartment to his ease mind somewhat. If he was in trouble then he might as well come out of the situation with at least one good moment. So as the hunter made his way into the small bathroom that him and Jessica had shared years and years ago he felt his heart seize starved. He didn't want to go. At first his surroundings didn't faze him. The walls were just solid objects, the floors just creaked like any other floor. But as the limited time went by, the walls became fences that contained the love safely inside and the floors, memories of sliding across the wood, warm bodies close together fooling around like the child Sam was never able to be.

However as soon as the merry melodies recreated themselves, they were torn apart violently by reality.

Oh how bitter.

"Samantha, I'm home!" A young voice joked teasingly. Chilling sensations dropped into his stomach, eyes widening in a mixture of trepidation and languish.

Sam could hear the front door click shut and the light tread of the voice's footsteps grow louder. His heartbeat sped, practically bursting from his chest at the sound. Swiftly, the older hunter shut the bathroom door, locking it. He twisted the shower's faucet letting the ice cold water spray from the showerhead. Rather then getting in, Sam sprang back to the door cautiously pressing his ear to it. The footsteps progressively got louder as Jessica made her way to their bedroom. Calloused hands began to shake in hidden excitement and thrill. An overwhelming urge to open the door and face Jessica- see her face, smell her hair, touch her hands- hit Sam at once as he shifted back and forth from the knob to the shower.

"Sam, you here?" Jessica spoke again nearing the bathroom. She paused at the sound of water spraying in the bathroom. Sam was probably taking a shower. "Are you showering?"

The hunter bit his lip, throat thick with emotion. He hadn't spoken to Jessica in so long, the memory of her voice was as raw as tree bark. He shifted in his spot anxiously, croaking. "Uh... yes."

Jessica frowned, Sam's voice sounded deeper and wounded. "You okay, babe? You sound sick."

Clearing his throat, Sam raised his voice's octave a pitch higher. His voice had deepened throughout the years from all the shouting and maturity. When he was still in university merely an adult, his pitch had been about as high as a parrot. "Yeah- I uh... I think I caught it from someone in law."

A tedious grin stretched across Jessica's face at her boyfriend's response. She stalked forward, closer to the bathroom door. "Well," She purred. "Why don't I join you in there, and we can both be sick together. Y'know, all for one and one for all, I can make some chicken noodle soup and we'll watch some movies... how about Back to The Future?"

"Time travel isn't really my thing, but thanks for the offer." Sam evaded. Oh the irony. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing aside the desire part of him and focusing on the reason. If his body had it his way then he'd be letting Jessica right on in. But his mind had always been a stronger part of his personality; rational and observing. The young girl pouted, crossing her arms.

"Sam, what's wrong?" She asked worrisome. "If you don't want to do that we can always study." There was silence from the bathroom. "Baby, are you going to come out? I love you y'know? to the moon and back. If you're hungry I can pick up something to eat, there's a new salad shack that opened up on the north wing?"

The hunter sighed, pressing his forehead to the door tiredly. "No, I'm okay Jess... I... I love you too."

He heard the closest door open, Jess rummaging around for a sweater. She found one of Sam's newly bought Stanford sweaters and pulled it over her head putting it on. The long fabric hung off her petite frame, engulfing her in warmth and the comforting scent of Sam he had somehow managed to overwhelm over the fresh plastic smell of when it came out the factory. Just as Sam thought that Jess was going to leave him alone, she came back dragging what sounded like a chair against the floorboard. On the other side of the door Jessica stopped just parallel to the bathroom door, taking a seat on the chair and propping her legs up onto the bed.

"We're a team baby, if you aren't going to come out and talk to me I might as well tell you about my day. I hope you don't mind."

Sam smiled to himself. That was the Jessica he remembered. The _'I don't take no for an answer'_ girl. The only person Jess reminded him more of was Dean. Their sassy sarcastic vibe, lashed together with enough seriousness not to screw with them. Dean would have really liked Jessica. "No, I don't. Not at all."

"Okay then, for starters I woke up beside an amazing man. He's tall, and intelligent, and dreamy, and he's mysterious yet has a heart of pure gold. I love every ounce of that secretive boy; even if he doesn't tell me what's wrong and I worry about him frequently." She mused, knocking her knees together. "He made me blueberry pancakes -just the way I like 'em- and walked me to my morning class like the gentlemen he is. In psychology, Mr. Bates asked us all a question. Media study was boring as usual and bio was just as bad. I walked home and ran into Cathy who said Brady was going to host a party tomorrow on his floor, told her we'd be there and voilà! here I am. Pretty uneventful day if you ask me."

"Boring is good." Sam encouraged weakly. Nowadays he wished for a boring day. It seemed that everywhere he looked there would always be a life-threatening problem arising that threatened the exist of humanity or his family. Each person they met with a case always seemed to weigh Sam down more. He loved helping people -it was his life- but at some point in time he feared that he or Dean would crack under the pressure and miserable atmosphere.

"Hey Sam?" Jess spoke breaking the momentary silence between the two. Sam craned his neck, staring up at the dying light hanging from the ceiling.

"Yeah?"

"How would you describe home?"

"Why do you ask?

"I don't know. Mr. Bate's just asked us." She said shrugging, despite Sam being on the other side and not seeing through walls. "And I know you aren't that vocal about your family, but home is different- right?." The hunter bit his lip. He never really had a permanent home. There was the Roadhouse, which Sam didn't really know counted anymore, Bobby's house, the Bunker- hell even Rufus's cabin. But like all the owners of those places, they had all disappeared, fading from the brother's existence in a wave of flames, gunfire and explosions.

"I- home is... um well it's..." Sam wasn't really speaking from the mind when words came pouring out from his lips. He recalled stories to Jess of Dean and his shenanigans, their long road trips, the wind and blaring music when inside the Impala zooming down the curvy and straight roads, of future memories yet to come in her short lifetime. He censored most information out for her sake, sticking to the classic 'we travelled around a lot as kids because of our dad' excuse and not including any of the, 'I started Doomsday, became soulless, let my brother turn into a demon, lose all my family, lose you'. Everything he's ever wanted to tell someone, but had no chance of doing so because of the effect his life had on others.

Everywhere was the hunter's home.

His home was the Impala's, and the Impala's was the road. Roads never ended, it was limitless- endless path to where ever the hell they wanted to go. Las Vegas to New York, the brother's owed their lives to the road and bled their trust into it.

And in return it gave them freewill.

A soft chuckle was heard from the other side of the door. A faint peacefully grin stretched across Sam's face at the familiar laugh sending chills up down his spine.

"Sam Winchester, you are one of a kind." Jess mused from outside. She dragged her legs off the bed covers, planting them against the floor. Sitting up, Jess stared intently at the ivory door. "Please come out, I know you aren't taking a shower."

"Jess, I don't think I should come out." He said delicately. He tipped his chin down to the tile floor, eyes falling in place with the grim stuck between the floor's cracks. If there was one thing Sam would NEVER do, is expose Jessica to the murderous life that he lived. "You won't like what you see."

Thin eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. She got up from the chair, taking a hesitant step towards the bathroom door. Her voice flooded with worry and support. "Sam, all I see is you." Her hands clasp the other's clammy and nervous. "Have you gotten hurt? please tell me."

"No, no I'm not hurt; but baby you have to leave. Go out with Cathy and Jade for a couple of hours." He begged. "And when you get back I'll..."

"You'll what?" Jessica whispered innocently distressed. "Not be here? Be bleeding on the bathroom floor half-sown up- half knocked out like last month? Baby you got to let me in- and I don't just mean the bathroom."

"Jess," The hunter breathed tiredly, pleads escaping his lips desperately. "Just PLEASE go- please. It's for your own good."

"Bullshit!" Jessica fiercely erupted. "Don't give me that crap Sam, you and I both know I am completely capable of taking care of myself!"

"I know you can take care of yourself, I never said otherwise. But this is something that even I can't wrap my head around."

"Then come on out." She pleaded. "Come on out and we'll both deal with this- together. Because if you don't, so help me God I will lock pick that door and barge on in. We're a team Sam, that means both you and me. It's always meant that."

"I can't, I really can't come out." Sam slumped his head against the door, chest rising and falling quickly.

"I'm not going to argue about this with you Sam, I don't want to spend today fighting. It's your privacy, and if you don't want me to know then I won't pester you anymore. I'm sorry." She apologized honestly, tone obviously tired and lonesome.

"No Jess," Sam mumbled to himself. "You never need to say that, never. I should be the one apologizing..."

Gathering up the courage and wit, Sam twisted around grasping the door knob with shaky hands. He took a deep breath, turning the knob and pushing out. There was no other way out, his pasted deceased girlfriend was on the other side of the door and he was on the second floor. Now Sam had escaped many buildings in the past when being on the second floor or higher, but there was only one window in the bathroom, and it was built at the very top of the wall parallel to the door, in a thin rectangular box similar to that of a basement window. He wouldn't be able to get through it let alone not fall. There was only one path he could take, and it lead to an intelligent and innocent lady.

The hunter's eyes meet with another pair, breath hitched in a overwhelming mixture of disbelief and happiness. He let out a half-lived inspire, shaky hand coming up to his mouth. He drew his hand back, eyes round. She was just as beautiful as his faded dusty memory had remembered her. Thick straw blonde hair fell from the side of her face, forming at her jawline. Bright blue eyes displaying the reputation that she knew what she as doing. Her naturally dimpled lips twitched downwards, losing its neutrality. She hadn't aged a day in Sam's eyes, and even if she did he would still be equally awe-struck at the sight. A hushed exhale escaped the hunter's lips. "You're beautiful."

However, as Sam experienced a livid miracle, Jessica was having quite the opposite. "Oh my God-" She breathed stepping back.

"Jess..." Sam took a step forward, hands displayed out, eyes round and empathetically reaching for her. She recoiled back, stepping away from him in horror, flustered hands swatting the air in etched panic as if trying to stop the man she thought she knew from coming any closer. This wasn't her shaggy haired, young puppy eyed boyfriend, with gangly limbs and hidden intelligence. This was a man a decade older, eyes scarred by some war-like horror she had only seen once in her grandfather's eyes, torn apart by a heavy burden that hung noticeably on his shoulders. This wasn't her boyfriend, this was anybody but him.

"No, no, no, no-" She waved her hands through the air in pleading denial. "You're not Sam, not my Sam. Y-you can't be him, he wouldn't be like this- no, not my Sam- never." Her denial grew progressively as her mind tried desperately to make sense of it. Time travel was not possible, Jessica was a firm believer that for something to be true, she had to have scientific proof. This was some stranger invading her home. She sunk closer towards the closest door, feeling oddly trapped by the strange man.

"Jess," He said softly, the statement edging close to a plead. She flinched at the man saying her nickname. Only people close to her called her that, nobody else. "It's me, it's Sam."

"No, no- Sam wouldn't turn out like this, he wouldn't turn into this." She argued weakly shaking her head. Unexpected tears boiled in her eyes as she tried to hold herself together. The way worn man reached out in desperation, attempting to take her hand. If there was one good thing that came out of this situation for Sam, it was that he was being granted the chance to see his deceased loved ones. Only every gift comes with a consequence, and little did the hunter know this was part of his swan song. She jumped back, oblivious to the pain that stretched across his face when she denied his touch, free hand fumbling for the closet doorknob and swung it open. Before the long haired man could react to anything, she fled scurrying into the 4x4 walk-in closet and slammed the door shut, locking it in place. "G-get away from me!" She begged, shaky hands coming to cup her face in fear. Tears fell down her face, as she stumbled to the back of the small dim lit walk-in closet, puffy red eyes glued to the door. On the other side was someone she didn't know, he could hurt her, feed her lies, take her away from the people she cared about.

Sam pressed his head against the door lightly, hand coming up to feel the cold ivory wooden door. "Jess please, it's me." His voice broke into a lost whisper, begging for his first love to see him. He wanted to feel her again, her touch had become absent to him for 10 years. "I love you Jessica Moore, I will always love you. Everything I've ever done has all been for you. I wanted to bring love to your name, it was the least I could do. You gave me something I never could get, even just temporarily- and for that, I am forever in your debt. So please let me in, please."

Jessica listened warily through the door, kneeling to the carpet floor. She didn't understand what he was saying or why he meant it. The only people who loved her was her family, friends and boyfriend.

Why couldn't she remember her boyfriend's name?

"I know that I'm not what you were expecting, you are probably confused and scared and I get that. I'm sorry I couldn't be everything forever. I've done some bad things in life, I have made mistakes- but I am good and I will never- ever hurt you in anyway." He whispered, trying to hear any shuffling from the closet. Yet the hunter only heard silence, and he shut his eyes sighing heavily, and twisted his body so that his back was pressing against the hard door. He slid down all the way to the floor, resting his head against the door with a faint thud. "Please let me see you."

Too caught up in being terrified, the young lady's mind was wiped of any existence she had with her boyfriend unnoticed. The voice now coming from the other side of the door was as foreign and unknown to her as the Artic. She couldn't remember or understand why whoever outside the closet was talking to her. She didn't know him. Shuffling on her knees, Jessica slowly made her way to the door, wrapping her arms around her knees protectively and pressed the back of her head against the door.

The breathing of the person outside parallel to her, started to pick up slowly. Something was happening that was scaring the stranger as much as he was frightening her. "Jessica I love you." The voice grew desperate as more words spewed out of his mouth. Jess assumed it was a he, the stranger sounded like a man anyways. "I love you so much, alright? Without you, I just crashed and burned. It was just the two of us, two young adults with odd pasts trying to look for some harmony and peace for once. Those were the best couple of years of my life Je- oh my God-" The voice breathed in utter-most fear. Whatever was happening to the stranger outside was something he couldn't stop. It was impossible to stop time. Words tumbled even faster out of his mouth, thinking from the heavy heart and not mind anymore. "Jessica, I love you-don't forget that okay? Don't forget me. I love you so, _so_ much- I will always love you Jessica Moore, I-"

The voice was cut off abruptly, leaving Jessica with a sense of confusion and mystery. It was like he had been cut of his voice- whoever the man was. In fact, Jessica didn't even remember how or why she was in the closet. After a couple of minutes of deathly silence, and drying pointless tears Jessica slowly got up, twisting the doorknob gingerly.

She slowly pushed opened the door, there was no one in the room but her.

 

_"Because I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you."_

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes in this chapter come from:
> 
> Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN which Sam is in trouble again for like the billionth time and I try to recover from my family's Easter dinner

As the setting surrounding him flickered on and off, floor morphing from a soft wood to a hard bumpy concrete, he tripped forward feet off balanced. Rain poured down hard against his jacket soaking him quickly to the bones. Before the hunter could adjust to the odd teleportation, a loud squealing of tires and honking screeching into his ears. Headlights crawled up his body, and he swiveled around in shock. A car hurdling towards him screeched wildly, just as Sam jumped to the side, legs falling to the floor barely inches from the whizzing car.

"Watch where you're going, jackass!" The driver yelled waving his fist, as he drove by angrily. Sam scooted backwards on his rear, one hand planted firmly on the wet floor, the other gripping his heart in attempts to catch his breath.

"Jess." He exhaled heavily. Lively eyes skipped around the area for any threat instinctively. Besides being on the side of a road, totally exposed to the rain, Sam was okay. The buzz of lights and faint echo of music caught his attention from behind. He twisted his body around, noticing a small road house-like bar, only meters away. The shadows of people reflected off the windows, chattering and throwing up their heads in laughter. Sam pushed himself off the concrete, ignoring the ache in his weary bones. His feet pounded clumsily against the ground, staggering to the building. Pushing open the doors, he was instantly meet with a strong cocktail of whiskey, smoke and pine.

 

Sam wasn't regularly a heavy drinker. That title was more of his brother's to keep. But that didn't mean Sam had never gotten piss-drunk before. He had probably gotten scary drunk only three times in his life; a Halloween party with Jess, in that old manor years and years ago asking Dean to stop him if he went dark side, and after Dean had been made a hellhound chew-toy. However, there were events in the recent years that had influence his taste on alcohol. Any hunter would agree that the days of the Apocalypse had produced a fair amount of gun-slinging drunken idiots that knew what many did not. His drinking had steadily increased the year or so ago when his brother had disappeared from his bed bloody without a trace. Those had been the worst, knowing that he had been one of the main reasons his brother had gotten that cursed mark and turned into that thing; barely able to identify as his brother. If he had just finished those trials, sent back all the demons and locked the doors to hell once and for all, none of it would have happened. If his death had meant dozens of more people -Charlie- from being saved, then he would have taken it. But instead he listened to his brother's beloved words, both siblings not knowing the consequences that would appear sooner then they thought.

 

He regained his balance, supporting a hand out against a wooden beam, and wiping his wet face with the free one. Droplets of water dripped from his clumped hair like a wet dog in the midst of a blow-dry and he took a bar seat beside a leather-wore man. The bartender, a burly bearded man eyed him sus piously. He was nothing like Ellen. Sam ignored the strong scrutiny coming from the man, hunching his shoulders and gesturing for a drink with the slight flicker of his wrist. The bartender begrudgingly obeyed, getting to work. The future hunter glanced around the musky room in sonder. It wasn't a hunter's roadhouse for sure. He could easily tell by the fact that there was no men letting each other test their machetes.

 

The leather clad man sat beside him shifted in his spot, hands clenched around a newspaper. Sam took the chance, discreetly peering at the top of the paper.

 

_1998_

 

Unaware that his mouth hung open and eyes were round in shock, he stared at the newspaper perplexed. It seemed like he was going back- back in time. First it was the Roadhouse in 2006, then Stanford with Jess in 2005. The time gap between those events had only been a year or so apart, however now the gap between Stanford and this bar was 8 years. The jump had increased sending him into the 90s. To get information at this time wasn't going to be easy, computers had been invented- he had roughly 10-15 years before they weren't- but they were slow and he really doubted Google was a reliable source. The hunter was so caught up in wrapping his head around the time and getting back to 2015, that he hadn't noticed the leather clothed, dark haired man setting the paper down and craning to stare at him. "Can I help you?" The man asked gruffly. Sam snapped out of his daze, making eye contact with the man. He reopened his mouth to respond and apologize, but was cut short at the man's appearance. The long leather jacket he had grown up with looking as if it had come from the factory a day ago, the scruffy stubbed beard, the hard eyes and glued frown. He knew who this was.

 

It was his father.

 

"Da-" He choked in surprise, attention snapping to the counter just as the bartender came back slapping the beer in front of him. He swallowed, pushing down the bile and turned back to his father. "N-no sir." He corrected avoiding glaze. The future hunter picked up the beer swiftly, taking a swig and swallowing it just as fast. He bit back the familiar bitter taste of the beer, clenching his teeth anxiously. His dad was right beside him, shoulder to shoulder and he wasn't going to say anything?

 

"How's.. um, your night so far?" He choked dumbly. His dad craned his neck, staring at Sam with a stern and annoyed look.

 

"Pretty damn good until you came."  His father grunted, taking an extend drink of his whiskey. "How's about you?"

 

"...Good as well." Sam stated awkwardly. The future hunter paused momentarily. A question and theory itching at his skin. "How many kids do you have?" He blurted out anxiously. What if he didn't exist to John like all the others.

 

"S'xuse me?" John questioned, hand falling to his side, shifting past the leather jacket and onto the metal shaft of a pistol. Sam put his hands up to chest-level in surrender.

 

"I mean like, if you were to have kids- not that you already have them, just theoretically- how many would you have?" 

 

John eyed him, frown set in motion. "Two," He said simply. "I've got two kids. You sure you're okay son?"

 

The future hunter swallowed silently, eyes grave and obedient at the question. "Yessir."

 

"Where'd you come from?"

 

"Kanas, Lawrence." He answered in a heartbeat.

 

"No..." John said slowly. "I mean where were you just at?" Sam glanced down sheepishly. He couldn't be anymore obvious to his father. The muscle memory of 'yessir' and sir' once forgotten came back with a bitter after taste. "My ex girlfriend's." He quietly spoke solemnly.

 

John only nodded. "And where before that?"

"A bar."

"Recipe for disaster." His father said bitterly taking a spit of his whiskey. However the future hunter was too caught up in his thoughts and memories to hear that.

 

"Then I was in a really miserable place. With two amazing people, and one home. Only one of those people wasn't breathing, and I-I could have stopped that." He mumbled in a trance. "She was like family to us, and now.... now she's just gone?"

John eyed his unknown son carefully examining him. He looked him up and down, twisting on the stool. "Wanna hear my advice, kid? Home is just a word stretched too loosely. It's just you against the world, always has- and always will be."

Stunned brows raised in surprise. John's son couldn't do anything but gap in disbelief. He would have never expected his father of all figures to say such words. In fact, Sam expected the opposite. He was sure his father would speak about how family was the only thing one had left at the end of the day. How they'd fight for you day in and day out, never hesitating. That you weren't alone, because the people that you called home would be there. "That's not true."

 

"You say that as if you know me." His father grunted bitterly, shoulders hutching back together tiredly as if he held the weight of the world- or two sons.

Sam wanted to knock some sense into his father. His father knew better then to say that. Sure their life was shit, but sometimes it could be crap and that had to count for something. "Ye, I may not know you, but I sure as hell can relate."

"Doubt that." His father hissed, choking back bitter drink. The young hunter's eyes fell from his father, falling to the counter. Annoyance and anger built back up into the hunter. He had spent every aching moment after his father's death to forgive the man- forgive himself. The guy had practically thrown Sam at Dean and told him to use every ounce of his heart in providing Sam with a life. What kind of father did that? And just when he came to terms recently with how his father acted, the rug had to be pulled from under. They just always had to fight, didn't they? Even after years.

"You know what?" Sam growled lowly. "I've had enough of this crap. I mean- you spend every second of your life moping and drinking, and for what? Trying to get revenge on your wife's death? Revenge gets you no where! If you were a good husband, you'd do what she would have done and taken care of her damn children!" His voice became a shout as anger piled up inside him.

People turned heads as the argument grew worse. The bartender set his rag and glass down, frowning. "If ya' don't knock it off, I'll kick your sorry asses out 'dis bar, y'hear me?"

Father and son chose to ignore the bartender, too caught up in each other. John narrowed his flaming eyes, hand shifting to the back of his belt. "What do you think gives you the right to talk about my wife. You don't know a single thing about my family."

"I can name every single bit of detail about Dean, like-like how he glorifies you, but has dreams of his own. How he'd hum _Hey Jude_ when he was nervous, or-or how he dreamed of being Batman just so that he could save everyone he thought he left down; including _you_."

Both Winchester's slid from their stools, John sizing up his son in a bloodthirsty fashion. "What the hell are you?"

 

Sam, managing to settle his anger down ever so slightly sighed. "I'm your son."

 

And that's when John punched him.

 

The younger hunter stumbled back in shock, pain shooting from his cheek where he had earned John's fist. He placed the digits of his fingers on the tender spot gingerly, staring at his father in unwedded distress. His father and him didn't exactly see eye to eye, they shoved and pushed each other when arguments grew intense, but never once did Sam remember being hit by his own father. Even being close to the age of his father in a reality situated in the past, the younger hunter still looked at his father with a look of shock, betrayal and child-like horror. As if what had happened would be to unfathomable for a son to even think about his parents doing.

 All anger flooded out from Sam, forming a pool at his feet. The bar grew quiet as the family's odd reunion started to gather attention.

 

"Hey buddy!" The bartender snapped. "Y'a got a problem, take it outside."

 

His father's chest rose and fell heavily with enraged breaths. He pointed an accusing index finger at Sam, brows furrowed in strain. "You stay away from me and my family, y'hear?"

 

The younger hunter remained silent, only staring, mouth gapped open at his father. John eyed the room instinctively before turning, throwing a wad of bills on the bar counter and storming out the door. Chatter filled the building once more as the fight flickered out. People went back to choking down beers and telling stories.

 

Sam didn't want to leave his dad alone though, this was possibly the last time he'd see him again.

 

Throwing a twenty dollar bill on the counter, prominently ignoring the bartender's "This is like 15 years to early dumbass!" as he waved the plastic bill in the air angrily, Sam followed quickly behind, only a moment of hesitation. This was family, you could always go to family. He pushed open the front doors to the building, exiting back into the cold rain in pursuit. The parking lot was dead, vintage cars in his time but all new now rested lifeless in its parking spots. The rare car drove past, tires flying through a puddle sending water everywhere. He searched in desperation for the sleek black car he marked as home in hopes to find his father. Even through the murky rain and fog, the hunter's eyes still managed to find the shiny beast resting at the corner of the building peacefully. In bashful nature Sam jogged towards the Impala, ducking his head to see through the window. Before he could get a proper look into the Impala, the scruff of his collar was grabbed harshly, yanking him back. He choked on air temporarily, back slamming against the puddle of water. Dazed, the hunter looked up blindly from recovery. Above, the looming dark form of his father could be made staring coldly down.

 

"Wait Da-" Before he could finish, John kicked at his abdomen. Sam's back curled inward to protect from the blows, hands covering his face for protection. "-let me explain!"

 

John ignored his son's groans, kicking him in once more. The words that escaped his son's lips meant nothing to him because, well... he wasn't his son. "I told you to stay away from my family!" John growled, bending down and grabbing the long haired stranger by the shoulders. The stranger was pulled up to his knees, mostly dead-weight, swaying left and right. John grabbed the chestnut hair an inch above his scalp in a tight grip.

 

"You." _Slam_ \- "Don't." _Slam_ \- **"Know. _Me_ _!"_** His father yelled. Slamming his son's head repeatedly against the Impala's driver door's window, brutally John gave no chance for Sam to explain himself. Using all his force he smashed the stranger's head against his car until the glass gave out with a sharp crack and multiple streams of splits created a spider-like circle around the impact point. Sam clawed at the Impala's rear view mirror with one hand, other shakenly holding the backseat's door handle. Through thick blood pooling around his eyes, he could still make out the blurry figure of a little green soldier shove into the pocket of the car.

 

It must get lonely for the soldier there sometimes.

   
As much as every instinct of his was telling him to fight back, which he still had a 20% chance of doing, Sam didn't. He wasn't going to hurt his dad, he didn't want to hurt anymore of his family; hadn't he done that enough? It could be Fate's payback for all the times Sam had messed with the world. He deserved it.

Thrown from the side of the Impala, Sam fell to the ground, scrambling up quickly onto his knees. "The last thing we did together was argue, I won't have that happen a second time." The son explained spitting blood from his mouth causally. He had taken much worse beatings before. Physically, despite his head throbbing, nose possibly broken, and knees and palms scraped up from the jagged pavement, he was okay, he had faced gods and goddess from A-Z, hell he had been the Devil's chew toy for years; this was a piece of cake- _pie_. However, inside, inside was a whole other story. Inside the man, the son being pummelled senselessly by his blood, was being torn apart bit by bit. This wasn't suppose to happen, families didn't act like this; beat their sons to a pulp, destroy the very foundations of hope. ' _You_ _can always answer for your family'_ that's what his father had said way back when one day. For family you'd do anything; even get bashed. Yet this had to stop, the punching would get Sam nowhere except for the hospital. He had more important priorities, he needed to escape this time-traveling magic.

Predicting a fist to come flying at him, Sam tensed himself.

John, with all his might, threw his arm back, fist clenched ready to hit. Throwing the punch, John prepared his nerves to be hit with the recoiled pain of bone and skin connecting with bone and skin. Yet, his fist came to a sudden stop halfway, falling short. Firm eyes pin-pointed exactly where his fist was, now seeing that it had been overwhelmed by the stranger's larger hand.

Stopped halfway, Sam held his father's fist with one hand. Taking a well-deserved breath, slowly he staggered up regaining his bearings. The remarkably strong stranger loomed over John, hand still firmly encasing his. 

 

"I won't," The stranger shook his head, lips pursed together. "I'm not going to hurt you, not when this might be the last time."

 

John didn't understand, who was this stranger? There was a throbbing pain at the back of his brain every time he tried to pinpoint the man's identity. He had never seen this person in his whole hunting experience, nor the sweet old days he remised with a bottle of scotch and whiskey. "W-who are you?" His voice choked in spite of not knowing the stranger at all. The stranger stared brokenly at him, attention directed just at John.

 

"Your son, I'm your son." The man whispered. Sam watched the internal battle inside his father play out. The furrowed brows, wince and tiny stumble back proved to Sam that something was happening in his father's head. Something his dad was trying to fight subconsciously. The strained expression faded and before the man could say more, John grabbed his wrist the captor had been holding, and yanked it towards his body. His hand was ripped away from the stranger's grasp before piloting his elbow back. Soft skin and the tip of his elbow hit the man square in the jaw fiercely, and the man stumbled. Dazed from the elbow in the face, the man was too slow to stop the heeled kick by John. A steel toed boot hit the man in the gut winding him, his back hit the Impala's side sliding down into a boneless heap.

 

Tides turned, John reached from behind, pulling a 10mm pistol from his back. He cocked it, pressing the barrel to stranger's forehead. "I only have one son." He breathed in a growl. "And he's safe."

 

"Then do it." The stranger whispered, eyes trailing up to meet his own. A new wave of forlorn and tiredness rose from the hidden depths of the man. "Dad, please." He pleaded with teary familiar eyes. John had seen those eyes somewhere before. "I can't do this anymore, please- I'm just so tired."

 

Palms gripping the suddenly heavy pistol grew damp, sweating from the pressure. This random, totally dangerous mammoth of a man was asking John- The man he insisted was his father- to end him? How broken and desperate had this man become? How far had he fallen to reach this sad, sad conclusion. Nevertheless, John doing exactly that, put his free hand on the pistol's handle for accuracy. He swallowed thick bile, eyes glued to the shattered man in front of him.

 

"Please," The man begged barely audible. "I need you to do this; as if I was your son."

 

John kept his fingers tightly gripping the gun. "I wouldn't do that, not to blood."

 

"We both know that's not true," He murmured.  "Please, I'm asking you to save me... isn't that what we do?"

 

John didn't know who 'we' was, yet he did know that what he did- what he really did- was save people. And if this man was asking him to do exactly that, no matter how morbidly low, then the lines between saving had grown far to obscure to carelessly decide. John's troubled eyes peeled off from the barrel of the gun to look at the man. An audible gasp escaped his lips as rain poured down on the pair harder. The man- or what he thought before was a man- was slowly fading. The edges of him recced into nothing, spreading through his body. The stranger paid no attention to it, as if it had happened many times before.

 

"Wha-who are you?" John asked lost. He glanced at the familiar eyes once more. Those eyes: soft and mysterious, he had seen on his dearly beloved wife. The eyes etched permanently with fear forevermore, burning up high. The strain and tugging at the back of his head diminished, replaced with the comforting reassurance of his little blond haired son and wife with the heart that still drummed.  

 

The man, now almost completely faded looked up from the hole in the barrel of the gun, giving him a pitifully weak smile. He knew his father, as mighty and stubborn as he was, couldn't defeat everything that came his way.

 

 

"I'm not sure anymore." 

 

 

The decision had been decided.

 

 

John squeezed the trigger, eyes shut.

 

 

_'click'_

 

 

And then, he was gone.

 

 

 

_"There's no place like home."_

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes mentioned come from:
> 
> The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum
> 
> (And realize that I wrote plastic bill instead of paper bill when Sam tosses the bartender a wad of cash before chasing off to find John. This is because I'm Canadian and we have those plastic bills that smell like maple syrup (I kid you not))


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN which Sam goes back to his second home and I have to somehow teach my work the whole concept of being a part time student worker.

 He closed his eyes, face scrunched in preparation for the quick end. However after seconds of nothing, Sam peeked open a eye in confusion. His dad was gone. The backdrop of the bar had been replaced with a collection of old mixed-matched rusty cars stacked upon each other. He shifted in his spot unease, feeling the new gravel crunch under the weight of his boots. He had traveled again. Man did that sound stupid, time travel. But it was the only  logical reason that all this had been happening.

Taking a step forward, in the graveyard of cars, he tried to regain his bearings. A forgotten wave of pain from the beating, given only seconds ago from his father resurfaced, hitting him hard. The hunter doubled over, clutching his stomach and trying to hold back the bile pushing up his throat. He fell to his knees, slamming his palms onto the sharp gravel and arched his back in convulsive gags. Throwing up the wave of vertigo and bruises until it was just stomach acid and spit burning the insides of his throat.

 He moaned, spitting out a gob of excess spit, avoiding the bitter taste of puke on his chapped lips. Leaning back, he scooted backwards, knees up. Breathless, he dragged his hand down his face, "Goddammit." He hated feeling confused. Whatever was happening to him he had experienced or read of in his life. And when he did try to get to some computer or source of research, he vanished- popping up somewhere farther in the past. Not even death could fix this. It would get exceedingly difficult to get information or help now that computers were the size of crates and ran as slowly as a sloth. This wasn't some angels doing, or even a djinn, this had to be something powerful. But he didn't know what.

 

And Sam hated that.

 

Stumbling to his feet, Sam got up on shaky legs dusting himself off. He was caged inside a maze that consisted of dozens upon dozens of old cars. All cars considered old in his time, but fresh in whatever year this was. He swore to himself, clutching his weak stomach. This place had housed libraries of memories; old and new. Before it had burned to the ground, the hunter had considered it a safe haven, a second home. He breathed in the nostalgic odour of oil, metal and pine, anchoring himself.

 

Sam needed to get researching right away, there was no time for chatter or reunions. He had to find a way to get himself out of the vortex. If Ellen, Jo, Ash, Jessica and his father had all forgotten him, then what would happen when everybody did? From what he could piece together, his destinations after the odd time travelling as being decided by the importance of the person or people. What would happen when he was brought to the most important person to him?

 

Pushing aside the scary thought, Sam took to finding the set of spare house keys. Travelling through the maze of cars, Sam finally found the one he had been looking for. A slowly rotting yellow '68 Chevy appeared round the bend. Sam trekked over to it, sticking his hand carefully into a crack that opened up from the dash to the engine. Once Sam found the keys resting safely on a metal sheet he pulled them out and left the maze, headed straight for the bordered up old house.      

 

The inside of the house brought back a tidal wave of lost memories. The junkyard surrounding was the border of a bittersweet memory. It encased parts of his childhood and present life safely within. To the common eye, the property with a grimy old junkyard and worn down house was worth a little less then a buck, yet to the old man who resided there and the brothers that came in and out, it was everything. It was a start, a life, a death; an end.

 

There was no burnt walls or ashy floors. The inside didn't smell like one big bonfire, as it had been the last time Sam had saw it in its former glory. No, the dark red wallpaper known to peel and be glued up constantly, was in its prime. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he treaded silently into the living room, a musty wave of old books and dust bombarding him at once.

 

His main objective was to research and try to find a possible fix-it to the problem. Information was just going to get more sparse and harder to find as he traveled back. This was a chance for him to get some progress. He just had to avoid Bobby and stay known to the people around. Dragging his digit across the long line of book spines, he picked out one that read, "Taboo, Incantations, Black Magic: A Guide" opening it up and flipping through the pages.  

 

Barely 2 minutes into researching, the air chilled around him in tension and the loud creaking of the old door sounded through the house.

 

"And who the hell might you be?" A familiar gruff voice hissed from behind. The voice sent chills of comfort up the hunter's back as he slowly set down the old book. Twitchy hands rose up, fingers spread out and palms open. Slowly he turned on his heels, hitching shallow breathe. Hazel eyes met the hard fatherly ones that had given him reassurance long ago when they had still flickered bright with life. Sam turned, face to face with Bobby Singer: friend, mentor- fatherly figure to an absent one. The ball-capped hunter cocked the shotgun held tightly in his hands, squaring his shoulders. He looked younger, more youthful and less weighed down. There were less gray strands in the hunter's hair that had collected over stressful years, the wrinkles and tired bags had seemingly faded. Sam's fatherly figure looked 20 years younger. And the realization hit him hard. As time went in reverse, the ones he loved and knew got younger- more hopeful, less hopeless; everybody but him, he- he was stuck to get older. Like a cassette going forward that was supposed to be on rewind.  

 

Too caught up in his thoughts, he didn't realize Bobby growing swiftly tired of the silence. "You deaf boy?" Bobby questioned coldly. "How'd yer get in 'ere?" He cocked the shotgun intimidatingly. Digging through his pocket, Sam slowly took out his keys to the place that Bobby had admitted been placed under one of the old rusty cars since he was a boy. The shotgun lowered for a split second, a vulnerable moment of confusion across Bobby's face before quickly being covered up. "How the hell did you know where to find that?"

 

"Because," Sam sighed tiredly. "You told me 20 years ago."

 

"What did yer' say?" Bobby growled, a look of confusion and denial at his feet.

 

"20 years ago- 20 years from now, you told me that the spare keys to the house were under a old yellow '68 Chevy, with the hood ripped off of it. You told me that if we ever got lost these keys would always be there."

 

"Boy, I have never seen you in my entire life let alone tell you where m'keys are. So I suggest you leave now or Imma blow salt rounds up your-" Before Bobby could finish his threat, the front door swung open and two young boys came crashing into the conversation. The sight left Sam unable to breath in disbelief and awe. 

 

"Uncle Bobby!" The shaggy younger boy exclaimed ignoring Sam completely. "I want to toss a ball to Rumsfield, do you know where they are?"

 

"Sam, not now." Bobby breathed exasperated. He glanced at the older blonde haired boy. "Dean, will ya take yer' brother outside and help him find a ball?" 

 

The blonde haired boy nodded obediently, turning on his heel to go. His almighty grand brother, the one guy Sam never would stop looking up to, standing a couple meters away was barely reaching his bicep. Big green eyes that had yet to dim from reality and soft skin unscarred by future events. He had never seen this Dean before. It was a sad reality.

 

"Dean..." His older brother's name escaped his lips in a hushed whisper as the boy lead the younger version of himself out the door. The fatherly-figure's eyes snapped towards his, locking with such furious protectiveness.

 

"Don't you say that name or lay a finger on that boy's head, you understand me?" The cock of the shotgun startled Sam out of his trance. He stuck his hands out harmlessly, taking a step forward. He hoped to the absent God, that Bobby did not pull the trigger and make blood pour. But Bobby wasn't that rash. There were little boys outside and a pile of ancient priceless books in the blast zone. The risk was too great. "You got no right." He growled.

 

"I've got every right." Sam protested.

 

His fatherly figure narrowed his eyes, the corner of his lip twisting up in a sarcastic blunt response. "Yea, and why's that?"

 

The future hunter took an stretched breath of wispy air. "Because, he's my older brother."

 

Bobby's eyes grew round in confusion, cocky attitude fading at the unexpected answer. Instead he stared troubled at the man claiming to be the younger brother of a 10 year old boy he loved as his own. "Bull." He exhaled.

 

"When I was younger, I was stupid enough to think I could fly. I fell off the shed and Dean drove me on the bars of his bike all the way to the hospital. You bought Dean that bike."

 

"Boy-" The shotgun fell to the side, dangling with the useless meaning of intimidation. 

 

"You would teach us how to play baseball because that was your favourite sport when you were little. At night, when neither of us could sleep and were being annoying brats you'd come in and tell us that if we kept talking, sleep wouldn't be the only thing we'd lose. When Dean had his first girlfriend but moved a week later, you told him how you met Karen and knew right then and there, she was your girl. And- and I remember thinking as you gave him advice, how you knew that? how you were able to make every bad thing seem okay. I just didn't understand- couldn't wrap my head around it. You were just so calm, and always reassured us when we were scared- you always knew when I was scared..." Sam found himself recounting scattered old memories of events that made him believe the word family, wasn't just apart of the unobtainable American Dream. "And as we got older, you just stayed the same. Dad didn't- hell we didn't, but you did. You weren't our father, but you'd try to build us a life in your toolshed. And I know what I'm saying hasn't happened yet, but it will, believe me... It will. Those were some of my favourite memories."

 

The shotgun fell to the floor with a CLUNK.

 

Sam didn't realize how much he was shaking until Bobby had wrapped his arms around him in an embrace.

 

"Mother of... Sam?" Bobby pulled away from the embrace to take in the young man's appearance in disbelief. A frown etched onto his lips as he noticed the young man trembling violently. "Son, why are you shaking?"

 

"S'cause I'm in trouble Bobby, and I don't know what to do. Things are going too fast, and I don't know how or what is happening. I need your help Bobby, please. I'm so scared."

 

Bobby's face softened noticeably as he took his hand, patting and dragging his fingers through the young man's mop of hair. "Of course I can help you son, you never need to ask. Ya' just gotta tell me what's wrong."

 

"That's the problem Bobby, I don't know what's happening. It's like I'm some record being played on rewind, but as I go more into the past, future events that were effected by me disappear- like they never happened."

 

Bobby lead the future hunter to a seat, marvelling at just how extraordinary this all was. The tall grown man that looked like he could go 10 rounds with a bull and be fine, that sat in front of him was the boy he raised. From the looks of the future hunter and son, he felt as though his relationship with Sam hadn't been the one of his father's and his.

 

He had done it right.

 

"Kinda sounds like you do know what's happening." Bobby pointed out, rushing back to the problem. Once they figured out the situation, then Bobby could internally praise himself on proving his father wrong. The man- Sam- raised his hands, tiredly dropping them back onto his lap.

 

"I guess- I mean..." He paused momentarily. "The people I... 'travel' to always seem to..."

 

"To what?"

 

There was a thick layer of tension in the air.

 

"...forget who I am." Taking a fist full of his fatherly figure's shirt fabric, Sam clenched tightly empathizing his desperation. "Bobby, whatever happens, do not forget, okay? don't. If you forget then I get teleported to some other random person. Just keep thinking about me- can you do that?"

 

"Of course I can, what do you think I am, chopped liver?" Questioned Bobby. Sam let go of the fabric, dropping his hands. Somehow he had to find a way to stop Bobby from forgetting him. It was up to him. Bobby might promise he wouldn't forget, but saying was always easier then doing. That way he could stall for time and try to figure out a way to gank whoever had hexed him.

 

If he even was hexed. 

 

"I mean it Bobby." Sam pleaded, eyes bleeding in trepidation.

 

"So do I." His figure spoke back. Exhaling stressfully, the future hunter unraveled himself standing back up. He strolled to the large bookcases layering Bobby's wall, dragging his index finger slowly across the spines of the ancient books. Frozen in spot, Bobby was left to marvel at the man. "So what, you're from the future? Where's your dad? Dean? Why aren't they here?"

 

"All I know is that something is sending me back in time. Yet I'm never in one place for long, and I seem to get in the worst possible situations. This for example." Sam motioned to the shotgun at Bobby's side.

 

The future hunter stopped on the thick spine of one of Bobby's books, shifting it off the shelf. He opened it up, eyes glued to the text as he flipped through. Bobby awkwardly shifted in his spot, adjusting his cap. Either the hunter was to caught up in whatever case he had been thrown into, or Bobby was disconnected from Sam in the future. Nevertheless, it was his duty to aid the boy he practically raised.

 

"And was Dean the one who got you looking like Rocky after Ivan Drago?" He asked pointedly. Sam looked up from the book, the man's eyes growing glassy and wandering.

 

"No, I just got into a fight."

 

"Yeah and the other guy must be dead from how you look. Boy, that ain't a simple shiner." Bobby remarked drily crossing his arms. "So who?"

 

"No one Bobby!" The younger hunter spun around snapping with wide eyes. Reeled, Bobby took a hesitant step back at the outburst. The one he secretly imagined as his own son took a shaky breath, dropping his head and muttered a soft sorry. "I just- I just need to figure out what's doing this, that's all." He finished off quietly.

 

Bobby cleared his throat, "Look son, I don't know what's going on in your time- hell it could be raining cats and dogs- but I get the feeling that you've been disconnected from us far too long," Sam opened his mouth to object, but Bobby cut him off. "And I don't just mean in this situation. No, you've been for much longer then just this." 

 

"Look Bobby, I appreciate the effort- I really do. Just right now, with the clock ticking, I don't have the luxury of time. It may be that, already now you're forgetting me- younger me I mean. I wanna talk to you, tell you everything that's gone right and wrong, everything that's happening, everything that I'm thinking of doing. But I can't... I can't Bobby, I need to do this." The man desperately sighed.

 

"Well," His fatherly figure spoke up, shoulders relaxing visibly. "All you had to do was say so."

 

It was that simple tone and response that the future hunter had mistakenly forgotten. But boy when he heard that, he couldn't believe how good it felt. To have someone who'd always have you back even when things crashed and burned. Managing a smile Sam nodded gratefully turning back to the bookshelf.

 

So they got to work.

 

And everything seemed okay.

 

But like the Winchester's lives, 'okay' never lasted.

 

"Sam..." Bobby spoke softly with a sad hue suddenly. Sam peaked up from a heavy book hopeful.

 

"Did you get something?" He asked shutting the book and getting up. A permanent frown had etched itself onto his fatherly figures lips. He was rubbing his temples carefully as if a painful headache had come and gone without warning. The butterflies in Sam's gut fluttered around weakly, before huffing in exhaustion and flapped one last time falling into an endless void. Sam managed a pitiful 'what?'

 

He already knew the answer.

 

"You told me about the whole situation at 4:30 then a minute after about people forgetting you. But it's 4:52 and I don't remember doing anything for the last 20 minutes." Sam held his breath, eyes falling to the ground. Bobby looked close to tears. "You know what that means doncha."

 

"Yeah," Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah... I do."

 

"What are we going to do?"

 

Sam didn't know.

 

So they stood outside, past the old-new junkyard, the rickety old shooting range that stayed the same no matter what year, in the shade overlooking a stream of hills. In the background they watched the small figures of two kids and a dog playing around with a ball. If his fatherly figure was going to forget him, might as well he do it outside the house he called home once.

 

Bobby had offered Sam a beer after asking why he looked so much older.

 

The smallest boy threw the ball over the dog's barking head and just barely made it into the other boy's hands.

 

Bobby turned to face him. "Got a special someone back in your time you're itching to get back too?"

 

He had Dean.

 

"I had a girlfriend... but that didn't end well. It was a long time ago, no matter."

 

"Long time in my time or yours?"

 

"Does it really matter?"

 

"Guess not." Bobby shrugged looking back out at the boys and pudgy dog. "Sorry I can't help ya...."

 

"Sam." The hunter filled in weakly. "And it's okay, you've saved my ass far more times then you've let down."

 

The dog barked happily in front, making circles around the older boy. Bobby held the beer close to his chest, turning to face him. A skeptical eyebrow was directed at Sam as if despite not knowing the future hunter properly, he still knew that the brothers were more than just glued to the hip, they weren't just connected by blood. "So you mean to tell me that you're being erased from history and you're _just okay_ with that?"

 

"No, of course I'm not fine with it," Sam defended agilely. "I just..." At a loss of word he ran his fingers frustrated through his unkempt hair.

 

"Just, what?"

 

"I got a second chance. What if doing this, saves my brother?"

 

Bobby stared incredulously, "You're kidding son, right? You don't know shit from Sinola what's causing this, but you're still set on these suicidal plans?"

 

"I do this stupid stuff for him. He's all I got now Bobby, so yeah, I'm going to do whatever I can to save him, whatever the consequence. I've come to terms with that, and I'm ready."

 

"Ready? Ready for what? changing every aspect that makes him your brother, just so you can save him? Son, that ain't saving him." His last few words were drowned in the torturous constant drips of sadness. The soft laughter of a kid's innocence echoed in front of them, seeming but a million miles away.

 

"Did you know, you're the longest person I've been with so far." He mumbled, stifling the lump in his throat. It's not that he didn't want to talk about his brother, or one of the scarce options he still had left. It was the sly tempting two second thought that maybe, maybe Dean's life would change for the better without his existence in it. He wanted to believe otherwise, he really did. But with the evidence piling up like history books, the cold hardened truth was making itself known sneakily. The Yellow Eyed Demon had gone after his family for him. It had killed his mother, damned his father, and cursed his brother all for the sole reason of Sam. Their family would have not be torn into tiny shreds if the only person truly involved with the demon's plans had not existed in that bloodline. And if that member of that bloodline had not co-existed with the others, than Lucifer would have not been able to survive walking around in a ticking time bomb of a corpse, waiting for his true vessel. Their mother, father and step-brother would be alive. Ellen, Jo, Ash, Jess, Pamela; all would be alive, because no event would fold over like that one.

 

The Devil would stay a myth taught to children of what not to be and what not to do.

 

The dog's bark grew louder and more consistent as the winds picked up. A tug at Sam's gut prompted the hunter to close his eyes, a deep breath escaping his lips. He reopened them, absent-minded by the sting and whispering in his soul. The hunter's glazed impression confused Bobby for moments, it was only when he saw the outline of the long haired hunter did he understand. Once bright reflections of the hunter faded faint. It reminded Bobby of a case he had taken awhile back. A young girl, merely 17 had been assaulted and murdered in cold-blood by a rampage killer. People who had reported seeing the disfigured girl after her death, hours later would be found dead in the same manner as she had been. One had even said that the girl had been desperately trying to take a hold of their hand, as if to drag them away; to escape the murderer.

 

It took Bobby 4 days to figure it.

 

The longest it had ever taken him.

 

The girl, despite being killed by the murderer, was trying to help. She was trying to warn the next victim, trying to avoid a fate like hers. Unfortunately, people don't listen to those who don't live anymore.

 

But Bobby did.

 

Once facing off with the murderer, Bobby found himself out gunned. The man was large and burly, and had boxing skills like no other. No wonder the girl's face had been battered as such. He handled the supernatural, not the natural. People are different from monsters, they have different desires, are complicated; unpredictable. A monster goes for only what it needs; food. In that case, the Bobby didn't know what the man was going to do, if he would run, how far he'd fight. The hunter only knew that he had to take down this man.

 

Somehow, through a collection of punches, kicks, swipes and oddly enough a lamp, the murderer had fallen. Collapsing at the hunter's feet with a crack to the tile floor. After spitting blood to the side in exhaustion Bobby looked up with a huff of weary breath caught in surprise. The girl, once battered and disfigured now had a youthful glow surrounding her figure. There was no blood, no torn clothing, no bruises, just a child with an almost serene sensation around her. She tipped her head down silently in thanks before closing her eyes and raising her head to the sky. He remembered seeing the bright glow of the girl flare warmly, as her body slowly faded from reality in front of him.

 

There was a sad silence as she faded. A bitter desire for life with the realization of death. The girl didn't want to die at first, nobody did. That's why ghosts took solace in their non-existence past. Why they stayed behind instead of coming to terms with the trip to heaven or hell.

 

However just as the girl was about to disappear completely, Bobby saw through the sharpening wallpaper behind an unmistakeable smile.

 

He understood, and she let go.

 

That's what the man- SamSam _Sam **SAM**_ was trying to do. SonofJohnWinchester, BrotherofDean, _hero_. He was trying to let go. _Not suppose too_. Why wasn't he suppose to let go? Sam Winchester, born 1983.

 

Ghost don't stay without a purpose.

 

His name is Sam Winchester, and its - _his_ \- purpose is Dean. Remember, remember who? remember _him_.

 

"I know what you're trying to do." Sam spoke as if reading Bobby's mind. "It won't work, trust me I know."

 

"I gotta try." Bobby grunted, battling the inner straining battle of memory in his mind. The tall man placed a feathery and vanishing hand on the hunter's shoulder, forcing a sad smile at the fatherly figure.

 

"It's okay, it's okay Bobby, really. Stop resisting, I'm okay." Bobby fell to the hard earth on his knees in a strained yell of pain. Whatever was altering his memory was fighting wildly. The dog stopped barking and the ball fell short through empty space, hitting the grass with a dull thud. "Forget your faith in me Bobby, I'm not a hero. Do as the others and just forget. Forget what I brought to your life; all that pain, suffering, violence, death- just forget it all, please."

 

Sam lifted his hand from the pained fatherly figure, ready to disappear to whoever next. Yet as he did, the trembling solid fingers of Bobby's latched onto his dwindling wrists, yanking him down to the ball-capped hunter's level.

 

"The only thing you brought to my life..." Bobby winced at the internal battle going on in his head, only tightening his sweaty grip even more. "-was giving me the chance to be a father- a real one."

 

"Bobby..." The ghost-like hunter whispered.

 

Growled Bobby desperately, "Not for me, not for ye' daddy, for your brother; keep fighting, please."

 

The gusts of wind picked up, dirt blowing in Bobby's face. Tears streamed down his face, pained and red. It was the dust's doing. Or so that's what he was thought to believe. That's why his cheeks were wet. Bobby's fingers sank through air and he collapsed onto the dirt floor.

 

The little blonde boy on the hill stood alone.

 

 

"Don’t you see the logic in it? _He lives._ The only logic I’ll ever accept."

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes come from  
> http://poetryandoldermen.tumblr.com/
> 
> (Unfortunately I can't remember which specific poem the quote came from  
> Pretty cool writer/poet who mainly writes Supernatural Wincest stuff. But if you enjoy just well done writing (like I, who doesn't ship Wincest ((Which there is nothing wrong with mine or your preface)) then you can just read it for the sake of a good poet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which this chapter is somewhat (Definitely) short and Sam is a foot from the edge

The hunter was in a much more roomier space. His knees buckled from the sudden force of gravity hitting him at once. A hand shot out, latching onto a piece of furniture for support and held on tightly. Sam waited for the aching pains in his knees to cease. It felt as though he had jumped from a 10 foot building and landed on his heels. The pain shooting from his ankles to knees in screeching agony. This trip, mission- _whatever_ , was wearing him down. His feet felt as though anchors were tied down in a never ending tug of war, his breathing thick and whistle, heart crippled in doubt; miserable, miserable doubt.

 

After a stretched moment, Sam let go of the dresser, taking a breath of air and looking around the room. The walls were painted a childish blue with ivory accents, old stucco ceilings and soft carpet for the bare knees. A mix match of toys were scattered around the room, ranging from toy cars to army men. A small bed stood against the wall in the middle of the room with a barely noticeable lump hidden in it. Faintly, he could hear the sound of a baby's cries fading in another room.

 

If Sam had not known what was happening to him at that moment, he would have just assumed he'd been flung to some random house in a children's bedroom. 

 

But Sam unfortunately did know.

 

  
_Ignorance is bliss_ he thought bitterly.

 

Hidden under the covers, sleeping soundly, was a mop of dirty blonde hair that belonged to a little boy. A boy with freckles and the greenest greens to have ever be. The hunter padded slowly up to the side of the bed, kneeling down on his knees and brushed the covers gingerly away from the little boy's face. His eyes softened, and he tilted his head to the right in faint awe. His mighty brother, known to be the scariest living being in pretty much the whole entire world, laid sleeping in front of him at the pinnacle of innocence. He brought his hands up slowly, running his fingers through his brother's hair.

 

"Ironic, huh?" Sam whispered. "We've meddled with so many things, the Devil, Fate- heck even Death. We torn up the rulebook, changed destinies... told the two most powerful things in the universe to shove it. But I guess as lucky as we've been, we just can't run from everything. It's not like we usually have much time to finish stuff, though we always make do, y'know?" The last words broke into a choke, and the hunter leaned down closer to his brother, one hand stroking the feather-like hair, the other resting on his older brother's much smaller- less flawed and rough- hand.

 

Sam didn't want to fade into nothing, be permanently erased from every single thought or memory that ever existed. He could live through not being known to Ellen and Jo, Bobby or Jess, heck even his father. It would be extremely tough, every second would feel as though his life meant nothing, but he would do it for Dean. "We're not finished, you and I. Y-You were the one to make sure I got better when I was sick, helped me when I thought I could outrun a werewolf, pulled me from the fire more than once. Those were all real, so vivid and now... now it's as if I never lived. They are- were- real honest to God memories. So please, if this is it, let me die with the knowledge I gave everything I could for you and that for once was enough."

 

Tears stung his eyes, blinking rapidly to crease them. He could feel time itself and reality attempting to drag him away, lose himself in oblivion; away from his brother: his life. Sam wasn't like those people who accepted death, when his time came he would go, but now? Now was not his time. There was a real difference between dying and never having existed. No one, not even the worst of humanity deserved that. Back when Lucifer was crawling upside, he would have said otherwise- but they defeated the fallen angel. Ensured that the world was safe and that temptation wasn't engraved into stone as destiny was.

 

The tugging at his mind and soul grew but he stubbornly refused, fighting off the overwhelming sensation of nothing. The baby's cries in the other room stopped abruptly, being cut off like the snap of whip. Around Sam the room shifted, changing microscopically. Photos that held a family of 4 slowly morphed into one of 3, losing the youngest addition that had previously been held in dirty blonde haired boy's lap. Disappearing from his brother's presence, out of his reach and away from his safety. Tears smashed through his defenses, slipping down his face. He slid his free hand under his older- yet younger brother's back and pulled the sleeping boy against his chest. His brother remained oblivious to all that was happening, but that didn't matter anymore, Sam wasn't anybody- not even to his brother. Gripping his brother tightly against him, Sam greedily, in a last act of desperation attempted to soak in every aspect of Dean. He rocked him back and forth, tears breakings into pieces as it hit his brother's t-shirt.    

 

The edges of his hands slowly started to fade, disappearing before his dying eyes into a vast nothingness. Despite the last process of forcefully becoming nobody, Sam still held onto his brother the best he could. He was so tired, the constant tugging of reality and time trying to pull him away was wearing the hunter down. He was on his last strands before they'd snap. There was nothing he could do, there was no cage to throw whatever was wrong inside, no ancient or Godly weapon to erase the threat, no brother to reassure him everything was going to be fine, _Sammy_  


 

But when it came down to it, he didn't want to go without his brother.

 

"I don't wanna go, I want to exist- even if I had to start fresh. Do it all over, I'd do it for you. That's what family does, we're family, aren't we? That's got to mean something, has to count somehow." He begged quietly. Sam didn't want to cease to exist, he wanted to live, he wanted to be with Dean and Cas and Jody- hell even Claire and Donna.

 

The fading had spread to every direction now slowly engulfing himself. He didn't know what to do, the hunter was terrified, he needed some serenity and peace to keep him going a couple seconds longer.

 

What better way, then to seek family.

 

"Hey- hey Dean, wake up. I need you to wake up, just for me, just for a second... please wake up... please." He jostled his brother gingerly, hoping that the boy would wake up and open those calming yet fierce green eyes. The sleeping child however, remained cradled in his younger brother's arms sound asleep and nowhere close to waking. In a couple of seconds Sam would literally be nothing, not a long lost memory, a dislike, a like, a life; nothing. A sob escaped the hunter's lips, as he shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against his brother's.    

 

"I'm scared Dean, _I'm so scared."_ He whispered in shaky breaths. "So I need you to wake up, just for me- _please."_  


 

He squeezed his brother lovingly with one last ounce of strength before the tug of time and reality overpowered him. The world around him was fading, his life was being taken away cruelly bit by bit. His brother's life would continue, but his wouldn't. Whatever would change with him not existing would alter how his Dean would be. Would he be kind? cruel? rich? poor? Would he have the Mark?

 

It was all about the Mark nowadays, wasn't it.

 

If he had only known what was going to happen. Known about his cruel fate, his brother's bittersweet return to life, _Charlie._  


 

The younger brother opened his eyes, hoping to see his brother once more before disappearing. A half open - half closed, young pair of apple green eyes stared tiredly back at him, blinking slowly. To this much younger version of his older brother, he would only see a strange man crying inside his house holding him. Not the man he practically raised, or the one that he secretly was extremely proud of, just a shell of a person with no name to the face.

 

Dean watched in confusion as the man let out a sobbed sigh of relief, as if Dean noticing him was something as priceless as life. The long haired man was swiftly fading to nothing, his limbs and body being replaced with air and the cheery backdrop of the wall behind. The warmth he was creating, cooling to nothing, chilling Dean to the bones. His grasp on Dean turned to airy trails that skipped across his skin in a craving disappointment.

 

He wasn't given the swansong he deserved, that had been taken away from Sam along with his hands, his heart, his life. However he took what was given and used it to the best of his dying ability. If this was his last untainted memory before the universe corrupted it, then a little part inside him could live his last moments with that.

 

 

Holding the brother he loved so _so_ much, a black toy '67 Chevy Impala on the bedside to his right; just the two of them against the world, like it was and has always been.

 

 

Yeah, he could live his last moments like this.

 

 

 

 

  
_"_ _There are no happy endings._   
_Endings are the saddest part,_   
_So just give me a happy middle_   
_And a very happy start.”_   


 

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god damn you Sleeping at Last, why must you create Touch. It's too god damn beautiful bye


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN which Sam is in oblivion, his mother comes to visit briefly and I painfully struggle and cringe at how to write NOT EXISTING
> 
> (like fo real huw?)
> 
> I'm so sorry this is short and shit. The summertime is just not a goodtime to write

 

Being nothing... well, it was a lot like... being nothing. You don't exist, subsist, persist- nothing. Your life doesn't flash before your eyes like what the movies promised to happen. There is no theater that your eyes are looking up to, showing ever happy moment, sad moment, lonely moment that ever existed in what you called life. There is none of that, because in time and reality, you never existed. You aren't you, you aren't even it. You aren't a ultimate reality like Brahman, or a unanswerable concept like creation. You are nothing, and forever will you stay that way.

 

He isn't a form, there is no light, all he hears are voices. So many voices. Gruff old ones, soothing country-like kind ones, rough almost robotic ones. He hears them all, and he knows they are important. One is the loudest. It's got an edged accent like a grumble at first but seeps into a softly by the end. It says stuff, stuff nothing can understand, but knows it's important. All the voices are significant, because each holds a life. A voice is a life, but he doesn't have a voice. He doesn't exist.

 

There was a time when he felt. Before he remembered feeling alone, he felt loved. He doesn't feel that anymore however. To have emotions is to have a life and to have a life you must have a voice.

 

So he's just here- and there- and nowhere. And he waits and waits for some voice, somewhere, to hear him.

 

That isn't a problem though; there is no such concept of time with that that doesn't exist.

 

The voices change, some go silent like the way he is, but the loudest is always there. And sometimes, as if sneaking a peek into a vast treasure of uncomperhenable  knowledge, he can hear:

 

"Dad, why?"

 

"I miss mom."

 

Sam

 

"I can't do this without you."

 

_Sam_

 

"Nothing past or present-"

 

_Sam!_

 

"Brothers."

 

_SAM!_

 

Dean. The voice was Dean. They were brothers. He had dirty blonde hair. Hair like wheat and eyes like grass: _earth_. They were sons, John and Mary's: _family_. Hunters saving people: _heroes_. Boys on a roadtrip: _freedom._ Friends losing others: _Charlie_.

 

There's a presence.

 

"It's not your fault, honey." A lady in white says.

 

He knows he's suppose to respond, "How can you see me?'

 

"I have no memories of you, I never properly knew you. To me you've never existed," Her mouth doesn't move but he can hear her voice, he can hear the sadness in her words. "how can you forget what you don't know?"

 

"Everyone else forgot about me." He states simply. There is no spite, no regret or distaste in his words just fact. 

 

"That's because they loved you first. And every second that they forgot? they were mourning... for you. So come back to us. He needs you."

 

He wants to go, he really does but the proof is there. The voices don't cry as much without him around, there are more voices now then before. They sound content and safe, sometimes they even laugh. How can he just ruin all that? That isn't reasonable, it's violating the voices who deserve life.

 

"He doesn't need me." Sound projects from him, echoing throughout nothing. Little details of life before rise from the dust. He sees a little green eyed boy with sun kissed freckles. The boy smiles genuine at a smaller silhoette beside him, watching as the silohette disappears in a soft disperse. The boy keeps his smile, oblivious to the loss of his companion. As he gets older and changes, his smile stays the same, unwavering and bright. He's happy even without the smaller figure. The proof is in the pudding, as some would say. The green eyed boy does not need the smaller silohette.

 

 

 

"You're wrong." The lady muses, obstructing the thought. "He needs you a lot more than you need him."

 

"H-how do I help him?"

 

"That's something you must discover on your own. Something that brings you home."

 

Home?

 

The lady-his mother- pauses, "You don't know what home is?"

 

"No."

 

"Well then, this'll be an important revelation for you, won't it?"

 

"You say that as if you know the outcome." He says.

 

"Of course I do, mothers are always right." His mother's voice echoes around the void warmly, anchoring him to one spot. "So get up Sam, _get up_."

 

 

Nearby a voice goes silent.

 

The void below fills itself with grassy plains. Trees and bushes sprout into existence, forming a flat clearing with a lit pyre in the middle. The fire burns brightly, radiating heat and warmth that even he can feel. A figure in shrouds stands solely in the middle of the pyre untouched by the flames, attention locked on his. The shrouded figure doesn't say anything, yet he feels as though its judgement decides the scales. His very being dependent on the figure.

 

An overwhelming wave of guilt floods his being. If he had a voice, he might cry. If he had a form he'd fall to his knees. The figure is one of the many who have suffered from his decisions. Someone close, someone special and one of a kind; someone like family.

 

_I'm sorry Charlie, I'm so sorry._

 

As if time resumed, the fire slowly started to consume the clothed figure. The ivory cloths wrapped around its slim figure, charred from the feet working its way up. The charred cloth fell apart, scattering in the wind.

 

"Sam," Her voice was soothing like a melody, covered mouth never moving. "Get up."

 

He can't. If he does the voices die. He can't decide the fate of all those voices, it's just not fair.

 

The figure's hand extends out, arm crumbling slowly to ashes. "It's okay," Sam yearningly reaches for the fading hand. "We'll be okay." Only then does he notice his fingers taking shape, hand materialising from oblivion and working its way up his arm. More voices go quiet around him. His silhouette takes form, ethereally shining with the life of countless others. It's as if all the voices are giving themselves up to him; to his purpose.

 

"You need to get up," The shrouded voice prompts. "For the ones still living, for the ones you've lost; for your brother. We chose to follow you, don't let our sacrifices be for nothing. So come on Sam, _stand up_."

 

He looks to the floor, taking a moment to realize he's kneeling. Looking back up, the last of the shrouded figure has burnt to beautiful ashes, floating away in the breeze, following wherever the wind took it.

 

The people that have been in his life chose their fate. Whether or not entwining with Sam's had cut theirs short, they still continued on, chose to keep going. Holding onto the belief that, for family, one would do anything. Just as Dean would do for Sam, and Sam to Dean.

 

It's where he was wrong. The voices live through him, everything they taught him: love, hate, power, kindness, forgiveness, responsibility, freewill. All within the actions he does; saving people, hunting things, the family business. The people he's met, the ones he had the fortune of saving, and the misfortune of losing. They have all impacted his life in a indefinite manner.

 

 

His decision is made.

 

 

 

He gets up.

 

 

_"Once more unto the breach, dear friend, once more"_

 

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I tired, at least give me that. Writing about existence is hard k. 
> 
> Quote from my main man Shakespeare:  
> Cry God for Harry, England, and Saint George!' speech of Shakespeare's Henry V, Act III
> 
> ALSO HOW DOES ONE SPACE ON THIS WEBSITE? PARAGRAPHS AND SPACING ARE SO COMPLICATED FOR MY SIMPLE MIND


End file.
